


take what you want

by bertee



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Attempted Rape, M/M, POV Outsider, Prostitution, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/bertee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen and Jared are happily married. Jensen is an ex-prostitute who satisfied the rich and famous, Jared is the rich businessman who fell in love with him and OMC is the asshole who recognises Jensen on one of Jared's business meetings/poker evenings/whatever and who thinks that Jensen is still on the market.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take what you want

**Author's Note:**

> Strong trigger warnings for attempted rape, rape justification and victim blaming here. POV character is the OMC and he's very unpleasant.

The party is already in full swing when he notices him.

It's Wesson Industries' annual Christmas blowout, their chance to wine and dine influential clients, celebrities, politicians, anyone they think they can impress with one of the most high-end parties the city sees each year. Ben's been attending since he made CFO at Niveus four years earlier and despite his healthy disdain for Padalecki, he has to admit that the guy throws a decent party.

He's on his third glass of champagne and listening absently to Cassidy telling the gathered group about the latest deal her company secured. He smiles politely when the rest of the cluster seems to and he nods at the right moments but he's more interested in the way Padalecki's working the room.

He's easy to spot, tall and loud with resolutely messy hair. Ben knows he's probably wearing the best tux money can buy but as Padalecki weaves through the guests, he still seems like he'd rather be in jeans and a shirt. Probably something garish with an ugly-ass pattern.

Taking a long sip of champagne, Ben watches Padalecki pause to greet Jeff Morgan with a broad grin and a warm hug. He's too tactile, too eager to clap people on the shoulder or put his hand on their arm, and Ben rolls his eyes at the immaturity of it even as he keeps his attention focused on Padalecki.

He cranes his head when he sees someone else join the conversation, slipping in next to Morgan. He's shorter than both of them, although not by much, and looks far more at home in a tux than Padalecki, but Ben's lips thin out when he sees Padalecki wrap his arm around the guy's waist in a move that's far more intimate than his usual greeting.

That must be the husband then.

It's not a bad strategy -- it's obviously winning over the liberals even if Ben would've assumed it would cause friction with some of the more conservative attendees. A standard dumb blonde with a great rack would've been a more reliable choice though, and Ben departs from the group with a nod and a smile before easing his way across the ballroom to get a better look at the guy on Padalecki's arm.

He's a pretty little thing, big wide eyes and a friendly smile (although who wouldn't be able to slap on some charm when they had Jared Padalecki bankrolling every aspect of their life), and Ben frowns at the memory that surfaces when he looks harder at Padalecki's husband.

The guy's face looks familiar but it's not until he takes a sip of champagne and licks his lips that it finally clicks into place.

Jared Padalecki, CEO of Wesson Industries and one of the richest men in the whole fucking city, is married to a whore.

It takes all Ben has not to laugh right there. His thoughts fly off, picturing Padalecki's humiliation at the news being splashed all over the papers, the disgust and judgment on the faces of the party guests if they knew, and the possible impact on the Wesson share price if the shareholders became worried about the CEO quitting in shame after being exposed.

As far as Ben's concerned, this is the best Christmas gift ever.

Downing the rest of his champagne, he heads straight for Padalecki but slows when he sees him press a kiss to the whore's cheek -- Dean, if he remembers correctly -- before murmuring something in his ear. Dean smiles and turns away to head for the doors and Ben changes his mind in a split-second.

He remembers Dean, remembers paying through the nose for his services from an exclusive agency and remembers Dean moaning like the whore that he was throughout the whole thing. He'd felt amazing on his dick, riding it like a slut for Ben's pleasure, and Ben allows himself a smirk at Padalecki's expense.

There's no way a slut like Dean's been saving his ass only for his husband, and Ben can't think of any better way to spend Wesson Industries' Christmas party than buried dick deep in Padalecki's whore of a husband.

He keeps his well-mannered, respectable facade in place as he moves through the party, smiling and nodding at the people he passes, and he's satisfied that everyone's distracted when he slips out of the door after Dean. 

The hallway's empty and Ben frowns as he scans the doors, trying to work out which way Dean went. He rounds the corner in time to see a door at the end of the corridor swinging shut, however, and he smiles as he jogs the length of the hall to follow Dean down the stairwell to the underground parking lot.

He winces at the loudness of his dress shoes on the concrete steps and freezes when he hears Dean's footsteps halt.

"Jared?" Dean shouts from downstairs. "Is that you?"

Ben keeps quiet, pressing himself up against the wall to avoid being seen, and he lets out a breath when Dean's footsteps resume. Ben stays as light on his feet as he can while he makes his way down the stairs but when he gets down far enough to see Dean with his hand on the exit to the parking lot, he calls out sharply, "Dean, right?"

He smirks when he whips around at the sound of his name but his smile falters when Dean speaks.

"Sorry, man," he says with an apologetic shrug, "I think you got me confused with someone else. I'm Jensen."

Jensen's smile is light enough to fool most people but Ben didn't get where he is today by being most people. Nevertheless he lets Jensen think that he's bought it as he jogs down the rest of the stairs. "Wow, really? I could've sworn you were someone else."

"Nope, definitely Jensen," he says. "Got it on my birth certificate and everything."

By Ben's guessing, that isn't a lie and he tries to ignore the spark of petty jealousy which ignites at the realization that Padalecki was the one who got to learn his real name while Ben was just another dick for Dean to suck.

He shrugs it off -- a whore by any other name is still a whore, after all -- and plasters a friendly expression on his face once more. "Are you with Jared Padalecki then? I saw the two of you together in there."

Jensen's lips curve in a genuine smile as he nods. "Yeah, he's my husband." His hand closes around the door handle and he glances back at Ben over his shoulder. "Listen, I'm really sorry but I need to go grab something from the car -- I'll see you back at the party."

Ben slams the door shut before Jensen can get so much as a toe through it.

Jensen spins around, wide-eyed and angry, and Ben grins. He's not as tall as Padalecki but he's still got a couple of inches on Jensen as he traps him between the door and his body. "

What the hell, man?"

"Sorry, Dean," he says with a sneer, "but we need to have a little talk first."

Jensen stiffens. "I'm not-"

"Oh, that's right," Ben says, nodding. "You're Jensen now. Did Padalecki get to name you when he bought you from your last owner or did he let you pick that one out yourself?"

"Fuck you."

Jensen shoves hard at his chest but Ben shoves back just as firmly, slamming Jensen back against the door handle. He winces as it smacks into his tailbone and Ben moves in closer, slipping a leg between Jensen's to hold him in place. "I know what you are, Dean," he murmurs, enjoying the nervous bob of Jensen's adam's apple and the way his lips go white as he presses them together. "Hell, I even got to take a shot at that tight ass of yours back in the day."

He's a step closer to success when Jensen doesn't try to deny it and asks through gritted teeth, "What do you want?" 

Ben arches an eyebrow and lets his gaze slide down Jensen's body. For a whore, he sure looks good in a tux. "Getting on your knees and sucking my dick would be a good start."

"Fuck you," Jensen spits again, trying desperately to pull away from Ben's hold. His position is weak though and he doubles over with a groan when Ben punches him hard in the stomach.

Following it with a kick to the back of his leg, he drops Jensen to his knees and inspects his dress shoes for scuffmarks as he says happily, "Much better. Don't you feel right at home there?"

Jensen glares up at him with his arm curled protectively over his stomach. "I don't do that shit anymore," he says, still audibly winded from the punch. "I don't give a fuck what you paid me for a hundred years ago -- I'm not a goddamn whore."

"Coulda fooled me," Ben taunts, pacing around him and toying with the collar of his dress shirt. "Padalecki paid for this shirt, right? You're letting him dick you and in return he's paying from everything from your shoes to the product in your hair." Grabbing Jensen's hair, he tugs sharply to drag him up on his knees. "If it looks like a whore and gets fucked like a whore…"

It's kind of pathetic to hear Jensen's protests when the evidence is clear enough to every single person at the party, and Ben shoves him down to the concrete floor as he straightens his own tie.

He's caught off-guard when Jensen kicks out, ramming both his feet into Ben's ankle. It hurts like a motherfucker, sending pain shooting up his right leg, and he drops heavily to the floor with a groan. His elbow smacks against the concrete as he falls, and he drops onto his side when Jensen lands another solid kick to his shoulder.

Grimacing in agony, he lifts his head to see Jensen scramble to his feet.

He makes a break for the stairs, heading back up to the party and his fucking husband, and Ben sees red. There's no way he's losing his reputation, his job, his company because of some fucking slut who lucked into spreading his legs for the right guy.

"You son of a bitch."

His shoulder and elbow burn as he lunges forward but the pain is outweighed by the satisfaction he gets when his fingers close around Jensen's ankle. Jensen kicks out, trying to shake him off, but he's off-balance and goes down hard when Ben pulls on his ankle.

Ben almost winces in sympathy at the crack of Jensen's head hitting the concrete steps but the throbbing pain in his own ankle soon puts pay to that. Summoning what strength he has, he drags Jensen further down the steps and flips him onto his back before kicking Jensen's knees apart. "Guess it's hard for a bitch like you to keep your legs together, huh?"

Jensen's movements are clumsy and Ben eyes the bleeding wound on his head without compassion. The guy's spent long enough on his back to know better than to fight.

Even with the head wound, Jensen keeps struggling as Ben kneels on the bottom step and gets to work on opening his pants. "No, no…"

He kicks out again, more a misguided instinct than a targeted kick, and Ben grabs him by his loosened bowtie and backhands him hard across the face. Jensen collapses against the stairs with a cry and Ben sneers. He shouldn't try to give it out if he can't take it. 

Smacking him across the face once more for good measure, Ben tugs Jensen's pants down lower before giving his dick a sharp tug. Jensen starts at that, mouth opening in a pink 'o' of pain, and he lashes out with a sloppy punch that barely grazes Ben's jaw.

Ben raises his fist again in retaliation and ignores Jensen's plea as he brings it down hard across his face. Jensen goes limp, cringing in pain but too weak and disoriented to fight back, and Ben nods in satisfaction. It's about time he had some respect knocked into him.

"C'mon, whore," he says, lowering Jensen's pants as much as the splay of his legs will allow for and then starting in on his boxers, "show me what Padalecki's paying all that money f-"

He freezes when he hears a shout from the top of the stairs. "Jensen?"

Ben looks around him. Jensen is barely conscious, bloody and half-undressed on the stairs, and there's nowhere in the stairwell for them to hide when Padalecki inevitably comes in search of his whore.

"Shit."

The curse slips out under his breath and Ben runs the second he hears Padalecki's next footstep on the stairs.

He makes it to the door as Padalecki rounds the corner of the stairs and he doesn't stop when he hears his horrified murmur, "Oh my god…"

The door swings open and Ben flies out of it, tearing across the parking lot at top speed. Padalecki's shout for help echoes across the lot and as Ben runs for the ramp up out onto street level, he risks a glance back over his shoulder to see Padalecki kneeling over his husband instead of chasing him down.

He's thankful for the ever-present stream of cabs through the city when he makes it up to street-level and hails one down. A couple walking past give him sharp looks and Ben tries to cover the blood painting his knuckles as he slides into the cab.

He puts on his warmest smile, the kind that he's been directing at CEOs and congressmen all evening, and gives directions, but when he sinks back into the leather of the backseat, his usually quick mind stays blank.

He feels numb as he tries to work out what the fuck he's going to do now and Ben curls his hands into fists in impotent rage. Goddamn Padalecki and his stupid fucking whore.

 

+++

 

As it turns out, Ben doesn't stop running for a while.

He's out of state by sunrise the next morning, driving exactly at the speed limit as he puts as much distance between himself and the city as possible. Even if they don't set the cops on him, he still has Padalecki to contend with and as the road rolls by beneath his wheels, he slowly drives himself crazy with guesses about how long Padalecki will wait, whether he'll be distracted by the whore's injuries for long, whether he'll come after him himself or send someone else.

When there's no word on official channels by the next evening, he assumes the police aren't looking for him. Just Padalecki, then.

When he has chance, Ben calls around the hospitals from roadside payphones, checking to see if Jensen's dead more than he's checking to see if he's recovered.

Jensen is released after three days. Ben doesn't know whether to be relieved that he didn't kill the whore or worried that Padalecki will turn his attention to catching him sooner rather than later.

 

+++

 

Padalecki finds him three weeks later.

It's the longest three weeks of Ben's life, spent hiding, running, and looking over his shoulder every step of the way. From afar, he's watched his reputation be reduced to dirt and his whole company start to topple while Padalecki and his whore get small, sympathetic stories by journalists who are all too concerned with protecting their privacy.

His frustration builds during his isolation from his regular life and so when he walks into his motel room to find Padalecki sitting on the bed, all he feels is bitter.

He's expecting coldness from him, some grand melodramatic threats maybe, given Padalecki's tendencies for showmanship, but his anger only burns hotter when Padalecki greets him with that dumb fucking smile and an offered hand.

"Benjamin."

Ben doesn't respond to the handshake, just dumps his bottle of whiskey on the table. "Congratulations. You found me."

He looks over to see Padalecki shrug. "You made it pretty easy for me, man."

There's a glint in his eyes despite the upward curve to his lips and Ben is suddenly aware of the stone-cold wall beneath Padalecki's open demeanor. It doesn't stop him from wanting to punch the smile off Padalecki's smug face but he's pleased to see that at least he's hurting underneath his mask. He deserves it after what he's done to Ben's life.

"You going to kill me, Padalecki?" he asks. If these are his final moments, he's not going to be cowed by some dumbfuck oaf who got rich by chance. "Gotta say, it's pretty pathetic that you came all the way out here to defend the honor of a slut like your husband." He smirks. "How'd you like my sloppy seconds?"

Padalecki's smile grows tight but Ben narrows his eyes in irritation when he doesn't even try to land a punch.

"I'm not defending anything," Padalecki says coolly. Ben can't help his flinch when he takes a step forward but he frowns when Padalecki keeps moving past him to where Jensen is now standing by the closed door. "I'm just here for moral support."

He leans down to kiss Jensen on the forehead, right beside the angry red scar where he had fallen and cracked his head open on the steps. There's a strange kind of tenderness there, more than Ben expected to see either from Padalecki or directed at someone who previously made his living on all fours, and Ben backs up into the tiny motel room as Jensen steps out of the shadows.

There's still the trace of a yellowing bruise on his cheekbone, which gives Ben some idea of how bad he must have looked three weeks ago, but the Jensen in front of him seems like a far cry from the man he left bleeding and beaten in the stairwell.

He swallows hard. "Jensen, I-"

Jensen's fist slams into his jaw before he can finish, and for the first time, Ben thinks he might deserve this.

 

+++

 

They don't kill him.

Ben doesn't know whether he deserves that.


End file.
